


My Bloody Valentine

by jojobot



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Awkward Romance, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fluff, Good Pennywise (IT), Horror, Manipulation, Other, Pennywise in Love (IT), Possessive Pennywise (IT), Sad Pennywise (IT), Teratophilia, coulrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:07:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24608911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jojobot/pseuds/jojobot
Summary: You and Pennywise settle down and reach an agreement on Valentines Day. How does IT feel towards you?
Relationships: Pennywise (IT)/Original Character(s), Pennywise (IT)/Original Female Character(s), Pennywise (IT)/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 95





	My Bloody Valentine

**Author's Note:**

> Title makes reference to the 1981 horror movie: My Bloody Valentine.
> 
> Credits to the author of the song edit that Pennywise plays at the beginning: https://punkcider.tumblr.com/post/166205518116/who-knew-he-played-the-accordion
> 
> [This is the first fanfic I've ever written.]

Today was February the 14th, and as regressive and close minded as Derry could be, no such thing could intervene between an anual celebration meant to be shared and commemorated by lovebirds and their youth. Not even an eldritch monster.

It wasn't something explosive, but most walls, glasses and posts were already decorated with the theme. The air just felt different; it left you hopeful. There was expectation and an inner desire for a town like this to not crumble in its own dirt, wishing for something good to remain as a leftover.

You were currently whipping grey paddles on the underground tunnels with your rain boots, yet again. You weren't upset, you were nervously speed-walking, and doing so was almost a ritual by now, but on this context, things were different. Having a meeting with the Devil wasn't something comforting for anyone, and certainly not easy.

It wasn't an everyday thing you did, which made you wonder why you chose to walk through this path on this exact date, you could have chosen any other day of the week, you wanted to turn over and let your adventure for another day, but it felt as if your feet moved on their own; your brain was fighting against it, but no part of your body could respond nor listen to it, maybe it didn't _want_ to.

You already had your own mental curfew to specifically not get involved in Derry's Disease hunting hours. Wasn't that already a perfectly rational reason to take a step back? Apparently, it wasn't for you.

Was visiting Pennywise on Valentine's Day even a good idea? You knew him well, but not enough to have knowledge about his thoughts on this date nor any kind of specific ideology.

But you were familiar with his act. He would always put himself above humans and every living creature on Earth. He could even go as far as saying he's the most powerful being in the entire universe. And you wouldn't deny it, you _couldn't;_ it was a fact. Or at least, that's what he's ~~presumed~~ told you. As far as you were concerned—after meeting It; anything could be possible. On God, the mere thought of an even more powerful entity than him made your stomach stir in its juices. 

And of course he would laugh his ass off if you tried to engage him on these human traditions. He wasn't human, he was _The Eater of Worlds,_ and he had to behave as such.

You could already picture the scene and play it perfectly on your head. He would assume you came to him in order to spend a 'special evening' and he would cackle at you, hard. He was a big time bully and it hurt, even if such little thing was eye-roll inducing.

_Would it really be an assumption if such accusations were true?_

_You could always lie_. 

_No, you can't fool yourself_. _He has impressive telepathic powers._ _Jesus, you just couldn't win this one, could you?_

_Why couldn't this be like any other day? Does it really have to be different? Is it necessary for something new and exciting to happen? Something memorable and significant?_

You _wanted_ it to. With him. But you were already not that far from taking your last steps, the ones who would inevitably lead you to an embarrasing doom.

After so much thinking, you decided that you wouldn't care about the outcome, not because that's how you actually felt, if not because that's how you _had_ to feel in order to not suffer from it; whatever happened, you intended to take it like a champ.

Your inner rambling and dilemmas quickly ceased as soon as light patterns started reflecting on the water. You moved your head towards the responsible source; and there he was. Although it wasn't him in all his glory, it still was unmistakable. Blocking the path of the yellowy light, there it was, his shadow, occupying in a terrifying—yet funnily dramatic manner—the tunnel's dirty corner. You had a perfect glimpse of the outline of his hair and his dumb and puffy shoulders. You'd even dare to say iconic, but that would just inflate his ego. He had something else with him, yet you couldn't quite figure out what it was, so you just kept silently staring at its silhouette.

A sudden (at first, unknown) and alarming, loud noise startled you, making you almost slip and fall into the dirty water. You held yourself onto a wall. 

_An accordion?_

Pennywise's silhouette started making sense. He was gracefully flattering those long arms of his, producing in consequence this tetric melody.  
It was almost sorrowful, or was it distress? You weren't an expert, but it made you appreciate it in a pitiful way. A song meant to be heard only by the lonely. You didn't know an instrument could exhale such dejected notes, yet still, it was beautiful.

Nonetheless, just discovering that he could play the accordion, that It could have such skill, was astonishing, and simultaneously, expected of him.

You would be lying if you denied that such small detail about him didn't make your heart pound a little bit more. It was shuddering as strongly as that day when you had the luxury of seeing him play the piano.

On the spur of the moment, the song changed its roots and smoothly mutated into a cheerful one. It strangely gave off festival vibes. That made you giggle. It's like it reminded you that despite his evil demeanour, he was still a silly clown.

Him having a great grip and understanding of music made you melt. It was one of his guilty pleassures, and you had the privilege of listening and watching him. You often wondered if he knew and used this to allure you. You didn't care anyways, not now.

You decided to take a few steps foward to reveal yourself. It's not like he did not know you were right there, he always knew; always aware of its surroundings.  
His eyes were closed, but he opened them to take a peek at you. You gave him an apologetic expression, as if you just interrupted him. Even so, he never took a moment to stop playing. _Very professional of him, actually._ He smiled with his eyes, acknowledging your presence, proceeded to close them again, and just let the rest of the work to the tune. He was currently sitting in a wood box, _so humble,_ you thought. You took a sit on another one next to him, your boots still soaked.

Witnessing a scene like this gave you childhood memories. Your grandpa had an accordion, and you remembered when he used to put it on top of you, just to give you enough time to regret asking if you could play it, giving the reason that it was too heavy for you. Stupidly enough, you thought that was a great analogy for your relationship with Pennywise; you couldn't take it, **It** wasn't meant for you, yet you always came crawling back for more, blindly believing that, someday, you would.

Now you weren't just staring, but analyzing him. From the way the blood red lines on his face crossed the curvature of his eyelids and his lashes grazed his cheeks, to the way he was expertly pressing the buttons of the instrument even with gloves on. You remember those were very stiff, making it a die-hard instrument to play, but the way he touched them was almost gentle.

It soon ended. The last note was simple, but he had to make it outstanding, long, worthy of your attention. He opened his eyes and placed his gaze on you, waiting for whatever you had to say, patient.

"God," you plainly blew out. 

"No God here," he clarified, "just me." 

Pennywise gave you back a smirk along with a teasing glimpse in compensation.

You playfully hit him on the shoulder. _I have that level of trust, don't I?_ you thought. You had a funny notion about how lucky you were to not have a finger bitten off right now.

"What's the name of the song?" you asked.

 _"Amore," h_ e simply stated, his voice low and raspy, yet tender. 

The way he spoke was always pleasant to you. _His real voice_ , you thought, _not the voice from his act_. 

That voice always had an intention in order to gain something, whether it was to be **feared** or to tease and annoy, so you always prefered his true voice; his true thoughts, his true self. And he sometimes let go of that act, just to share a piece of him with you.

He put the accordion to the side, planning to pay full attention to his dear and only guest. 

It was probably one of the things he ~~stole~~ took from someone he ate. _Just like the giant pile of toys he had, just like the piano._ You sometimes asked yourself if he kept you in a similar way. If he **adored** you the same way.

"Do you happen to know what day-"

"Dance with me." He cut you off.

"What?" You looked at him as if he just grew two extra heads. 

Although, that wouldn't be entirely impossible.

"Dance with me," the monster repeated.

"No... thanks. I don't know how to, you already kno-"

A musical box from the pile of toys interrupted your poor sentence of an excuse when it began to roll its own handle, along with a creepy ballerina melody.

 _Oh, no_.

"Step right up, children, step right up!" the recorded voice announced, "Come near, come close! You'll laugh, you'll cry! You'll cheer, you'll **die**! Introducing: _Pennywise, the Dancing Clown!"_

A distorted evil-like laugh came right after that. You didn't know if you should run or laugh too.

A little clown popped out of it, soon to be crushed by a giant wood door that revealed along with an explosion of smoke a beautiful circus scenario full of lights, its background resembling... Hell?

He was so extra.

More festival music came out of nowhere—this one had a ballroom rhythm to it, making it more fitting.

Pennywise offered you his hand in a (surely fake) gentleman-like gesture in order for you to walk up the stairs. With a shaking grip, you took it. The softness of his velvet gloves never failed to amaze you, especially when they caressed your face or made contact with your own hands, just like now. It always felt _intimate_.

"Seriously, I'll just make a fool out of myself in front of you. We don't have to do this." You insisted.

"Put your feet on top of my shoes," he stubbornly commanded.

 _Oh, just like when parents teach their toddlers how to take their first steps for the very first time,_ you thought with a good handful of sarcasm, _this isn't humiliating at all_.

Once you did as you were told, he gently grabbed your hip with one hand, and with the other, held your hand in the air. You had no idea where to place your other hand; he could tell by the mix of doubt and worry on your face. With a cheeky smile and indicating brows, he bowed a bit, sticking out his shoulder to put an end to the mistery. You understood and placed it there, hand frightened as though in expectancy of being stung.

Weirdly enough, he smoothly started swinging from side to side, your feet following his repetitive movements.

 _Was he trying to get you used to it? Making you comfortable?_ This made zero sense for a human-devourer who claimed to come from outer space. Not that you wanted to, but you expected to be dragged like a rag doll. It might have sounded contradictory, but the fact that he was being so nice petrified you.

Pennywise took a long sniff to the air, _savouring_ it. _Creep_ , you thought. _You're already familiar with the way you make me feel, you don't need to waste the oxygen in your lungs just to take a taste_. He let out a chuckle, as if he heard your inner complaints. 

"Isn't Valentines Day such an unexpectedly convenient date?" the clown cooed.

 _Ah, so, he knew after all_.

He kept swinging both of you, but now, you also began to spin. The floor uncomfortably making cracking noises.

"Wait, so, you like dates like this one?" you said almost too excitedly. 

"Ohoo, why of course! I like all festivities. Heheheh."

That was abruptly abnormal, or so you thought. Maybe you didn't know all sides of the dice. You could almost feel your heart chirping.

"For the most part, they come as a... 'helping hand', if you will," he confessed.

_Helping hand? What did he mean by that?_

"What does that exactly entail?" you asked.

Everytime he stepped back with his dancing, you were almost sure you'd fall from the stage; he never let you, though. He enjoyed your light-scares too, he'd argue he was just fond of them, but you both knew it was purely and viciously based on sadism. 

"This town. I have influence over it. It prevents them from taking action over the 'disappearances'..."

That was true. You've seen the missing posters being hung over the old ones, forcing them to be quickly forgotten. This town was full of thoughtless and ignorant people—hence why the _Eldritch Terror_ never left. An almost too perfect strategy.

"... The events; these **brainless** , **inefficient** celebrations, draw their attention away even more. Their self-absorbed thinking; it's useful for the _Wise."_ He made sure to tentatively whisper that last phrase to your ear.

He threw your head back in a theatrical way, supporting your weight tenderly. It was practically cruel. Your eyes growing in size. 

Part of your heart broke. You thought for a moment that he cared about romance, about **you**. You were too stupid to do so—but again—you weren't going to oblige him to do something that wasn't on his nature. 

You got it, it made sense. He just used the occurring events in his favour. It was a tactic often used by politicians. You hated it, but it was witty.

He made you come to the surface again, feeling the blood in your head rush.

"Have you already... fed?" you asked, scared of the outcome. 

"Ohhh, yesss, I have. In gratitude of this day, huhahah," he said satiated.

You were also not surprised. This explained why he was in such good mood as well.

You put both your hands on his chest and detached yourself from him, making his grin drop and look down at you, puzzled. It also made the music stop.

"So you... weren't expecting me?" you said looking up at him. Unintentional, needy eyes penetrating his, as if searching for a goodwilly answer.

He let out a chuckle, seeming relieved in a way. 

"Awwwe, _Little Red_ wanted to spend Valentines Day with the **big** , **scary** _Wolf_ , yess?" A belly laughter coming from within him.

There it was, the awaited mockery.

"Of course I was waiting for you!" he said, making you unstick your eyes from the ground, "Pennywise pretended to spend the whooole day just with you, no one else." His raspy and soothing voice made itself present again. 

He caressed your hair, making contact with the tip of his fingers, from the top of your scalp to your ends. It made your back stutter from the chills—they were good chills.

"Really? Is that a promise? No tricks involved?" you asked, suspecting of him.

He adjusted his posture to take a better look at you.

"Hohoho! Promise promise! _Cross my heart and hope to die!_ " he exclaimed in a too-thrilled voice.

At the same time, with a claw busting out of his right glove, he marked an X above his chest, taking the phrase in the overly-literal sense. Blood began to rapidly stain his clothes.

 _So romantic,_ you thought. 

You weren't unfamiliar with his illusions nor his strength, so you knew it didn't hurt him. 

"After all..." He jumped back onto the floor, landing expertly, leaving space for suspense, _"My heart belongs to **you.** "_

You were the public, and so, Pennywise bowed. The wound on his breast opened just like a flower would, making his heart fall on an extended hand.

His heart was colored black, not at all dishonest with how he portrayed himself... Itself. Blood started inverse-dripping from between his fingers, where it was exposed. 

**Just for you**.

Pennywise was waiting. You didn't know what for, but he never stopped looking at your frame, expectantly. Maybe he was waiting for the pun to sink in—for the scene to make an impact.

But it never did.

He was anticipating your shock, your repulsion, your escape, your tears, screams, trauma, _**terror**_. Where were they? Where was the _**fun**_?

It never came.

You just stood there wide-eyed. The only sound between both of you, was the blood plopping on the ceiling, and the monster's faint heartbeat—He had never experienced nor been in the middle of such an awkward situation.

You carefully got off the stage, taking a few steps in front of him, eyes glued to his heart. You delicately raised your hands, only to be placed on both sides of the organ, grazing his thumb and pinky finger.

The clown was just dumbfounded, mouth agape.

You slowly leaned down, and _kissed his heart_ , affectionately.

For a brief moment, you could feel it beating against your lips.

He froze.

You arched your back, and looked up at him—once again—with intense eyes, hands never leaving his. Dark blood tainted your lips, and so was the tip of your nose. You couldn't see it, but some excess from the corners of your mouth was floating too, lightly touching your cheeks and making lines.

* * *

He didn't know if it was the blood's doing—but at that moment—he thought you were the most _**beautiful**_ being that had ever set foot on this Earth.

He had already taken a special interest on you, you had shared some time together, and he enjoyed ~~bullying you~~ your company. But at that moment, you had successfully achieved to pierce his heart with an arrow—These feelings had been itching him for a while, making his "breast" hurt. This, had just unchained them. And they had a long way to go.

He felt like a little kid who _foolishly_ fell for a classmate once they put a bandage on top of a banal injury for them. It made him mad. He _wasn't_ supposed to be that kid, he was supposed to be the kid who yanked little girlies' braids, making them cry.

Sometimes, those little kids did what they did for attention. Those little kids could fall in love with the girls too, but this was unknown to him.

He felt disgusted, because he felt **_weak_ ;** he was in need of your affection, your warmth, your appreciation. You wouldn't neglect that from him, would you? You couldn't, _you shouldn't_ , he thought. He was desperate, like he needed to treasure you. Forever. He had never _**craved**_ something so intensely, he had only known hunger and sleep, until now.

He snatched it from your hold. You whined, in a way that made it feel permanently gone. He placed it where it came from, wound healed as if it never existed, leaving no trace of blood behind.

"Don't fear _,"_ the clown encouraged calmly, "it's **yours.** "

Distress, agitation and self-consciousness hit you all at once. You felt your face and ears starting to heat up with an abysmal speed. No future circumstances could match or beat the wave of overwhelming emotions you were experiencing. The fluttery feeling in your rib cage couldn't help but intensify itself.

You didn't know what went through your head in order to rush and do such barbarous thing—kissing an alien's exposed, beating organ was on top of the list of _Oddest Things You've Ever Done_ , for sure.

It was inevitable. You were so fascinated and mesmerized that you only acted on pure instinct. It was a gesture that came from the deepest parts of your core.

And you were corresponded. That was beyond belief. Part of you thought there was still a big percentage of this being another overlong lucid dream. Your heart was probably playing a love tune with your ribs like someone would with a xylophone, but what now? How do you keep going with your life having a powerful entity as a partner? Maybe kissing his heart should aim for second place on your list.

You looked at him, mind being drowned in doubt. 

He didn't say anything.

You looked back down. The only thing in your power right now was staying silent while anxiously playing with your fingers. _Say something_.

"I'd give you mine," you managed to blurt out.

He raised an eyebrow at you. 

"M-my heart. I'd give it... to you, too. Just, not in the literal sense. I _can't,"_ you deadpanned, letting a nervous titter out.

It took a while to register on that thick skull of his, but once it sinked in, he wheezed. Squinting his eyes like a child, bunny teeth poked out a bit, his features softening. 

_Cute,_ you simply thought. You wished you could maintain that expression of his, make it come out more often.

"I could rip it right out of you in an instant," he offered confidently, wearing a malevolent smug. It sounded more like a statement.

You gulped.

Before you could even say knife, he instantly lifted you, taking a hold of your armpits, making you squirm. He plonked your stomach on his shoulder and carried you like a sack of potatoes. The sudden change of gravity created a state of dizziness.

 _Where was he taking you? Did he regret corresponding you and finally decided to make you his dinner instead?_ You tried turning your face to crack an answer from his expression, but you were only able to face his back, although, wherever he was taking you, he was decided, you could tell by his footsteps.

_Would it really be weird if you actually didn't care?_

Meeting him was one of the most exciting events in your short vacant life. To you, his mere existence automatically discarded any impossibility in this world, which made every day little bit more stirring.

You weren't even near to encountering all the hidden oddities of this universe—most certainly, Pennywise was just a little nib of it, but he was so out of this world, that it made you feel like you already did.

 _How often could an average person fall in love with a shapeshifter?_ You wouldn't complain if you had to kiss off life at this point.

You started deflecting from your trip towards death by tracing your fingers on the ornaments that decorated his back, its strange pattern reminding you of scales. You've never had the chance to look at it from close.

Your appreciation was soon interrupted by the feeling of being plopped onto something.

 _Oh_ , you realized, _you were sitting on a la-z-boy_.

_No, **he** was sitting on a la-z-boy, you were sitting on top of his thighs, hands embracing your form. How embarrasing!_

You lifted your head, only to be met with enchanting blue eyes, staring at your soul, noses almost touching. You were a boiling kettle again.

"Be _mine."_ The clown solely proposed, breath hitting your face. 

His features were different now, his makeup, clothing and hair were flawless, making a monster like him somehow more pleasing to look at. 

Nevertheless, you disliked that.

"I don't- I don't want this..." you whispered avoiding his gaze, scraping one of your wrists with repetitive movements. 

He fell silent again.

You felt too weak to handle the tension of the situation. You didn't want to face him, but you could already envision his _upset-face_ —usually, things turned out well for Pennywise, the exact way he desired. He was a methodical being, a mastermind of plotting, always ahead of everything and always in control of the outcome.

You really didn't want to know what happens once he loses control of the steering wheel.

You hid yourself on his soft ruffle collar, squinted your eyes, and whished for the best.

You felt his chest rising and falling, a guttural snarl arising from him, droplets of saliva dripping on your neck, startling you. Strong fingers were adding pressure on your hips with a grip that ~~threatened~~ worked towards soon introducing you to its claws for the first time.

 _You had to take control of that steering wheel, now_.

"I want you!" you exclaimed, "Only you. I really do... But-"

 _"But?"_ he said in a low, intimidating voice.

You swallowed your spit, giving you time to choose the correct wording.

You stared at him, one last time. 

"... Not like this," you confessed, "I don't want you to gaslight me, because you _don't need to_."

Now he just seemed lost.

Softly grabbing his face with both hands, trying to make him look more attentively at you, you said:

"I love your cakey makeup, your broken teeth, your yellow eyes, your bloody and pointy lines, your outstanding raising brows, your _feral_ and fun self. So please," you pleaded, "don't pretend with me. I am not one of your preys. Well... hopefully," you stated looking to the side.

He did the same, but he was deep in thought. Eyes quickly returned to you.

"Can _Little Red_ endure... loving _**THIS?** " _

Almost at speed of light, with only one shake, his head transformed into a _giant_ _mosquito's._

Screaming at the top of your lungs, you fell off the chair, your lower back hitting the floor.

Resting on your elbows, you glared back at him with rage and deception, trying to calm your poor heart down at the same time.

"Motherfucker!" you screamed at him, immediately covering your mouth.

 _You'd regret that_.

Still, he let out one of his annoyingly, exaggerated, evil laughs. He felt triumphant. 

_You didn't prove shit_ , you thought.

Courageously, you got up, slapping off the dirt from your knees.

It was horrifying, you had no clue mosquitos could look so disgusting from up close. Even so, you accomplished to look at it right in the eye... _Eyes._

"Look," you tried to debate firmly, "a giant insect can't scare me nor damage me. It only _spooked_ me because of the sudden change, it is not the same."

Its antennas surprisingly dropping, slowly, just like puppy ears would. 

"And..." you weren't finished, "... A true horror fan doesn't let that same horror rely _only_ on jumpscares," you asserted, smiling sympathetically.

With one last shake, his clown facade came back, jingling bells heard in the process.

He looked a little ashamed. 

You sat on his lap again, putting your face on his chest, ears tentatively trying to find his heartbeat, once again.

"I'm okay with this. I'm really okay with this," you said, reassuring him.

He started caressing your hair again, chin on top of it, hand big and heavy. He didn't want to let go. His chest started rumbling again, but this was different. 

_Contentment,_ you thought.

He was purring.

"Kiss me," he whispered out of the blue, "as if it were the last time." 

That last phrase was surely meant to be mocking, making a reference to death—giving you a taste of the possible outcome as result of your poor, poor choice, but you decided to not bother. His abstract threats often remained empty, _most_ of them, at least with you. You saw them as aimless phrases with the only purpose of increasing the fear factor, making it ready for the final act. But you didn't fear. 

This was his last test. Only this time, you happily complied. You really weren't aiming for your own obliteration, so you intended to fully finish the act with a simple gesture, the one that would put an end, a _happy_ one, to his fuss, and you felt confident at that, you wanted to prove him wrong.

You were practically breathing each other. Apprehensively leaning in a bit more into his mouth, you felt determined to just let things happen.

If this was a dream, you didn't wanna wake up.

No scratching, no biting, no blood, no teeth. Well, maybe a little bit of teeth. You had fantasized with this scene a million times, and finally doing it felt _liberating_. His lips were soft, even softer than his gloves. He was careful enough with you, maybe restraining a bit, but still noticeably eager for more. This felt reciprocated—very—reciprocated. You were okay with that, yeah, you were _**really**_ okay with that.

He was taken aback with your cosy body language, and even more with his own, but he started to embrace you again, tightly, and you began to do the same. You didn't want to let go either. 

Sadly for him, you had once again backed off, releasing each other's grip from your own selves and ending the kiss with a faint but pleasant smacking sound. You both looked at each other with a bit of confusion. 

This was rushed, you knew. And for a perfectionist like him, it meant the same. This was a first time for both of you, and neither knew how it could work nor its _consequences_.

But you were willing to try, slowly, and maybe, just maybe, IT was too. 


End file.
